


The Art Teacher

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon, M/M, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-11
Updated: 2005-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-27 14:14:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12082722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Justin's first crush. Inspired by & featuring lyrics from Rufus Wainwright's "The Art Teacher"A/N: I know it's technically not a B/J fic, so think of it as a B/J prequel.





	The Art Teacher

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

_There I was in uniform, looking at the art teacher…_

Mr. Collins was my first real, non-celebrity crush. I was thirteen, and he taught Art at St. James. He was the first guy I’d ever met who was good at drawing and painting, like me. My dad had always said that art was for girls and sissies. He tried enrolling me in little league, but I was never interested, and I always ignored the ball.

Well Dad, you got your wish. I love balls now!

Anyway, back to the point. Mr. Collins. He was tall, with longish brown hair. He had just graduated from teacher’s college, and had all the enthusiasm of someone who was not yet jaded by the apathetic youth of today. He talked about Monet and Degas the way Emmett talks about things that are sparkly and fuchsia, and I was enthralled. I hung on his every word.

It certainly helped that I was good at art. Make that great. I mean, lots of kids in that class were good. They could draw or sculpt or paint, but they didn’t have the passion that I had. Have. Mr. Collins noticed. He would stop by my easel regularly, put his hand on my shoulder, and comment on my work.

“That’s incredible, Justin!”

“Wow, great use of shadowing!”

“Those are the perfect colours for this piece.”

Every time, I would smile shyly, and feel the warmth from his hand creeping up into my cheeks, across my face, down my neck and spreading over my entire body in the form of a very obvious blush. Damn pale skin.

He was the first person to suggest that I pursue my art more seriously. He told me about various art schools, including PIFA, and told me to come to him if I ever needed a reference. Of course, my horny brain only heard him telling me to come. I think I muttered something about not wanting to be late for my next class, and I ran to the bathroom to try to will my hard-on away. Not an easy feat for a thirteen-year-old, I assure you.

_He asked us what our favourite work of art was, but never could I tell him it was him…_

The day Mr. Collins’ girlfriend came to pick him up, I was in the art room after school finishing a project. That sort of thing happened a lot. It was just me and him, and I could barely concentrate on what I was doing. I kept glancing up at him over my easel. He was tidying up some of the supply cupboards, and had his back to me. It was a magnificent view. 

Suddenly, the door behind me opened, and we both turned around. A young woman was there, with wavy red hair and a smile on her lightly-freckled face. Mr. Collins crossed the room, and greeted her with a kiss on the lips and a smile.

“Hey, you’re early.” 

“I know, sorry. Traffic was better than I expected. I can wait, if you’re in the middle of something.”

“No, it’s fine, just let me get my jacket.” He turned to me. “Justin, this is my girlfriend, Nadine.” I swallowed the lump in my throat, and nodded a greeting at her. She smiled and gave a little wave. “My car is in the shop, and she’s taking me to pick it up. I’m going to let you stay here, though. I’ll just lock the door, and you make sure it’s closed tightly behind you when you leave. Okay?” I nodded, unable to speak. 

After what seemed like five years, but was probably not more than thirty seconds, they left. I was devastated. I stared at the door, feeling the sting of tears. In between all of my fantasies, it had never occurred to me that he might be unavailable, let alone straight! I quickly packed up my stuff and left, making sure to close the door firmly behind me. I got home in record time, went straight up to my room, flung myself on my bed, and cried my eyes out. My first heartbreak, followed by my first major queen-out.

Somehow, I made it through the term, but Mr. Collins got a job at another school, and it was years before I saw him again.

*******************************************************************************************

I ran into Mr. Collins at the diner a few weeks ago. He was having lunch with his boyfriend. 


End file.
